


Her Email

by NullBubby



Category: Kirby (Video Games)
Genre: Crack-ish, that's her email
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:27:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28660947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NullBubby/pseuds/NullBubby
Summary: Susie has an email, and everyone's dang frack paddywhack set on seeing it.
Kudos: 7





	Her Email

Tuned like an array, programmed as maybe a quarter rainbow, flowers boomed in the daylight, expressing each their greatest line of flutter to emerge some shuffling to the breeze. A great, gentle wind, something never at all expected to be almost lulling, a tie-in of the smoothest heat soothed, like a pitiful, yet barely effectual attempt at recreating such a perfectly toned radiator. In just a slightest turn, somewhere off where a wheeze could be envisioned should it be tempted hardest, it seemed about as perfect as such a planet could bestow.

A sudden block appeared, rested in the core of her grasped palm. Beneath, the ground halted at once—an adequate fluffy meadow, strayed just far enough from the floral overdose hardly a minute aside—and the impressed fingers unfolded. The figure dropped in lack of attention, sputtered some nonexistent nonsense, then expanded, from the mass of a fingertip to that somewhat shorter than her own stature. Out puffed an equally small and comfortable seat, and with only a glimpse back to inventory, she seated herself before the desk.

With a sigh, she freed the upper half of the slab by a fold. It stuttered on her lifeless gaze alone, and instantly it coughed out the familiar logo, then the lock screen. She brushed her hair, then sagged, softly, ignoring the growing pattings of some native, clacking away for the first few keys.

By the third call, she couldn’t refrain from a flinch any longer. Despite how noticeable, how indiscreetly it was approaching, she only continued, the sole silence of anything in the general vicinity.

“Hey, hey!” a cheery voice pounded from the side.

Somehow she didn’t even bother with an expressed annoyance, or much anything. Maybe it was simply how evident the tone alone must’ve communicated its stubbornness, but even then, there were always other options.

“I wasn’ ‘spectin’ to be seeing _you_ ‘round here.” He hardly let a moment before restoring his stationed hopping, shifting feet with every step. “What, you got something like a break or whatever from yer company? Got, uh...”

She finally turned over.

“Man, what’d you be doing down here, anyway?”

Marx, carefree of the faceless pallor before him, continued his sways, bounding out half a pant every time he lifted. Somewhere off, a distant breath formed, again, the ground unfazed by it, him, and it all, but she couldn’t think otherwise. How jumpy, how so exhilarated his face alone looked, the most glaring issue of how one could lie so gleeful all the time stood the most compelling interest among the steadily mirroring spectacle.

At once, his foot dropped, stopped, and locked to place, above glaring off with an eye as gaping as his mouth. Out a single plant forward, and she nearly shivered, only for such an unexpected share to scare as much somewhere behind.

“Ah!” Marx tilted a few steps to her rear—where a single look would’ve revealed likely his greatest interest among the colorful sunlight. “Gooey! Haven’t seen you in for-never!”

An odd leap came of behind, the ground soon patting in the empty midst as the laptop still lay, inactive. Hardly much a twist looked imminent of him, and with some other audience—dangling some drops to water the greenery around—the idea of so much pressing one more button on the keyboard fizzled.

With a final word, absent from any recollectable memory in succeeding seconds, Marx suddenly barged forward, so close the heart of his breath could be felt for the instant his face flashed. She’d have much liked and preferred a word, though the best she managed was a wince.

“Woah! What’d you got here?”

Gooey jumped with the sound, helicoptering his way off to the distant side of view.

He eyed the words of the screen a few seconds longer, standing his hardest ground against the increasing shove on his side. “What’s that, your email?”

“Yes, now—”

A new blob materialized on the opposing side by next she accidentally glimpsed. There came a yelp, a hand redirected to Gooey’s own side, yet neither, despite how squishy they managed by touch, could bother with the pressure.

“Yeah, you see?” Marx called to his new cohort. “That’s it.”

Gooey nodded in tandem, spitting his tongue high into the air. A single droplet rained to her face amongst the disputed chaos, but she hardly had much willpower to consider what held force would shut them up.

In a disgusted wheeze, she cried out again, and, alongside the thinnest air itself, trembled a breeze with the new faces planting their obstruction of her only vision. Again, she tried some hopeless push against them, but somehow, despite the best managed being fretful forces of fingertips, they suddenly budged.

Behind came a grunt, the smoosh shut of something like thunder eased to a lullaby. The newest figure groaned, panting with all his doubtlessly unfortunate predicament happened to land into, but all cared for was the matter she was finally freed of two disgusting auras.

“Hey, Mags! What gives with your new outfit?”

Gooey gave a final glimpse, then followed Marx to the rear. The inflicted spit had already dribbled far enough to maybe stray disgust, but for the matter of the moment, she was more annoyed than anything.

“C-Cog...”

“Cog? Uh—Wait! Don’t tell me.”

A boundy dance limped around behind, purging what remnants of the silent air still remained with a gooey sound. Doubtlessly, both others were watching, etching their subconscious bets on which step would finally lead to its demise, though he spun onward, all the way off to her forward’s beyond, round again and again until his googly eyes merged with the landscape.

“You got them fancy new gray clothy-robey schmucks from some cog? Man, how’s that make any sense?” He hopped a good many times more. “Eh, whatever—get up. And what’s up with your eyes, too? Hit ‘em so hard they also turned gray, or what?”

Like a missile, the duo reformed ahead—an ovoid and his unfortunate host—soon joined by a matter of blue all over to top the deformed predicament. For the moments she’d lasted, it hardly seemed like a break had existed at all.

“Yeah, yeah, looksies here,” Marx said, resuming his blockage of the screen.

Gooey wandered off, behind, where the first contact had first been heard, though none were more focused on something but her misfortune. She repeated a desperate physical call for privacy, some flustered must begging out in her hands long, with all their feeble might.

“Is... that?” a frail voice whispered.

“Yep,” Marx stated, proud as if his own achievement, “that’s her email.”

“Move!” she finally cried, but they looked more interested in hugging into the tightest compaction of herself and her chair.

The pressure grew immense as he leaned even further—one wrong tilt and he’d be an unfortunate baby in her lap. Sidelined, the grayed, bleak eyes stared soullessly into her, though by then she’d just about reached fury to insanity. In a quickest slap, Marx was unhinged from balance, stumbling off out of view to the side, and at last, she breathed a huff of steel as she turned to the still hopping formation her and her audience stared into.

“Wonky!”

He spun, tripped over his only tiptoe, and collapsed, an ecstatic giddiness on his face before soiling the ground.

All left then was the newer hood, contemplating with a merest tremble of hands, though she hardly had much a remnant left on how to settle with him. Her fist scrunched, tighter, as the hat ahead fell even more lopsided than already, and at last, the doozy of dizziness popped.

“What’d I miss?”

From nowhere, a yell grew. He twisted in spot, luring a truly childish name out himself, then strafed until barely in view on the ovoid’s side.

“Marx!” he repeated, so barely familiar in voice it seemed she could as well smash him down regardless of his deeds. “Where were you running off to?”

The new face stopped, stared a good second somewhere beyond the rear of her head, then blinked.

“What’s cloning on? Uh!—going on?”

“Wait, wait, hold up. I ain’t heard anything ‘bout there being _two_ of you!”

Magolor twitched into view by a hand alone. With a whisper, a droning stutter as he gawked, he fully emerged into view.

“Uh, hey... Susie,” he said, raising his hand to his chest, a twitch in his eye. “What’ve you been doing over here?”

“Ah! I’ll tell ya’.”

Marx bounded back to his original place, and all of a sudden, unwarranted faces spattered any left of her vision. She tried a yelp, maybe something of a sound to call any of them, but it was no use—Marx had already squished the other two in. Unfolding a samey, deriding smile, his face jerked to let himself his own view of the screen.

“You see this, right here? That’s her email.”

“Wait, really?” one of the duplicates said, like a true awe formed in either word alone.

Marx nodded, facing a bash to his eye in a moment, though he didn’t much flinch. Expressing some heat out his lower confines, a dreary, uncomfortably distant aura drew nearer her finger in the instants, before it came too late by the warmth’s slimy grating.

While she bothered with the new drool, the others stood in newfound verbalizations of wonder.

“Her email?”

“That’s it.”

Someone else hummed.

“Wait, wait!” a light voice jumped from the side.

In another instant, a blue bandana joined the fray, instead to the opposite side the commotion. Though barely tall enough to even be noticed, his attire looked and provided enough to wipe the spit off.

“What’s happening?” he squeaked, twiddling earnestly.

“Take a look for yerself!”

He attempted a similar tiptoe, only to be shoved down and to the ground, without much an utterance to follow his misfortune for interfering. An eye followed, and the tongue suddenly returned as all were let back up. With an even fuller press and scratch of spit, she quaked, shifted her entire face as she groped around for some meaningless hope at the newer faces ahead.

Everyone but her joined to a nonverbal expression of wonder at the symbols adorning the laptop screen.

“Wait, what?”

“That’s her email,” Marx answered.

Magolor and his pale twin nodded simultaneously.

Someone leaned so much farther, collapsing into her, and finally, she’d had enough. With all the thunder and mind of metal booming around her head, she readied her squint, her hands, but already, the situation had crowded too much. If there was anywhere to grasp, it was behind her own head. Indifferent, the face in question pulled himself up, hardly glimpsed past as he oriented himself back to the motionlessness in question, and pushed her into the others again.

Her grip loosened, a droplet of something following to its palm, and at last, she let a plea, for some help of someone, anyone but herself to care enough to come, but her wish was futile. Newer bodies fell into view, like mindless mechanisms to place, and in unanimous mumbling, they grouped around the same recollection of all else. Like a hurling mist, they gathered and gathered, the faces of dizzinesses, robots, familiar faces, and downright strangers, and she cried her hardest to them all, full with tears and sobs. And despite so many turning to take a full-eye of her weariness, her teary mess, they only joined into the same, mindless uttering, at once.

“Yep, that’s her email.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is, indeed, her email.


End file.
